Hunt Them Down(5)

Hunt wished anyone who said drug use was a victimless crime could see what was in front of him. The twelve young girls who had been slaughtered were all the proof the skeptics needed to see. The girls had never stood a chance.

Why had the cartel killed them? What had prompted them to depart the warehouse? Had they known the DEA was about to raid them? It certainly looked like it. But how?

Hunt’s phone vibrated in his trouser pocket.

“Yes?”

“Pierce, this is Tom Hauer.”

Hauer was the acting administrator of the DEA. He was a political appointee but a good guy nonetheless.

“Can I call you back, sir? We’re still in the middle of the operation.”

“No, you’re not, I’m afraid. You’re relieved of your command, and you’re about to be placed under arrest by the Chicago Police Department.”

“Say that again?” Hunt replied, his temper rising. This wasn’t a good time to mess with him.

“You’re relieved. I’m sorry, Pierce. It’s all over the news. My hands are tied.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“That reporter you pushed to the ground was filming. Live.”

“For Christ’s sake. I didn’t push him to the ground. He tripped over his own feet.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Hauer sighed. “He was tweeting during the whole goddamn operation, and when the shooting started, he switched to a live video feed. He’s saying you shot an unarmed man. Tell me it isn’t true.”

“Moore’s full of shit, sir. The man was armed,” Hunt replied, his mind racing. Something Hauer had said had caught his attention. “Did you say Moore was tweeting? About the raid?”

“I’m on his Twitter feed now, and yes, he started tweeting the moment you left the office. How the hell did this happen?”

Shit! They knew we were coming because of Moore.

Hunt hung up on his boss.

“Follow me,” he said to three of his team members. “I’m gonna strangle that journalist shitbag.”

“Might not be a good idea, Pierce,” Simon Carter told him. Carter was his second-in-command and a close friend.

Hunt stopped and looked Carter square in the eyes. “He screwed us. He publicly tweeted our location, Simon. Scott’s death, and all of this, is on him.”

Hunt saw his own fury reflected in Carter’s eyes. Losing a teammate was bad enough, but they all knew the risks associated with the job. Being betrayed was a different story. Someone was about to pay dearly for his sins.

The moment Hunt stepped out of the warehouse, he was intercepted by a Chicago police lieutenant flanked by three other officers. They had their hands on the butts of their pistols. Hunt was glad the guns were still holstered.

“Special Agent Pierce Hunt?” the lieutenant said.

“Not now, Lieutenant,” Hunt said. “There’s something we need to do. Give me five minutes.”

For a moment, the officer looked confused. Then his eyes moved to the three DEA special agents in full combat gear standing behind the man he was supposed to take into custody. It didn’t look as if they were going to allow their leader to be taken. At least not yet.

“All right,” the lieutenant finally said, stepping aside.

Hunt nodded his thanks.

Outside, the sun was shining. Police vehicles and ambulances were everywhere. Someone had had the decency to cover Scott Miller’s body with a sheet. There would be a time to mourn him, but now wasn’t that time. Now was the time for revenge.

Hunt’s gaze was fixed on Luke Moore, who was being treated by a paramedic in the back of an ambulance. A DEA special agent was standing next to him. The paramedic saw Hunt and took two steps back.

“Come with me,” Hunt said, yanking Moore to his feet.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Moore said and then started screaming. “Help me! This is police brutality!”

Hunt effortlessly lifted the reporter and slung him over his left shoulder.

“There’s something I want to show you,” Hunt said. “Your handiwork.”



Moore didn’t care that people were staring at him. It actually fit perfectly with his plan. In his mind, they were witnesses he would call upon to testify how unfairly the police had treated him.

He was already counting the millions he’d get from a civil lawsuit when his head bumped hard against a doorframe. Moore let out a whooshing sound and blinked back tears of pain.

He twisted his head to the other side and saw a bunch of Chicago police officers chatting together. “Hey, you saw that?” Moore screamed at them. “This guy is out of control. Do something!”

One of the officers pointed a finger toward him. “That’s Luke Moore,” he said.

“Who’s he?” asked another.

“He’s the cop hater I talked to you about.”

One by one, the officers turned their backs.



Hunt lifted Moore off his shoulder and placed him on his feet, handling the journalist as though he was a wooden toy soldier. Moore had the good sense to remain quiet. Carter was standing guard next to the door leading into the laboratory.

“He needs to see what he’s done,” Hunt hissed.

Carter handed a gas mask to Hunt but didn’t offer one to Moore.